Poll: ???
Poll Options
View poll results: ???
6 67%
1 11%
2 22%
Voters: 9.

you took me outside
and started making a snow angel.
"Won't you make a snowman for her?" you said
while the december air gripped my body
and whipped my head.
I flashed you my bare hands,
already bitten by the wind,
and asked,
"Now what do you think?"
not expecting an answer good enough
to keep me out there for long.

and you didn't give me one,
so I waddled back inside
leaving you
to make an army for heaven.

but now
when the city's asleep on a blistering winter's night,
I walk underneath the halo
of an empty streetlight and pray.
I pray she's found a saint,
who'd withstand whatever weather
with no complaints.

and as my feet become one with the asphalt
I reflect on a single, sad thought
'til the break of day:

men like me,
even those made of snow,
are not for angels.


"there's a fine line between love and hate, you see
came way too late
but baby, i'm on it....."

i'm resigned to this position
and you are resigned to yours.
before we ever knew one another,
they planted a lot of weeds in our brains and veins,
binding our roots to some decrepit strain.
our faces were blurred,
eyes crossed out,
voices slurred.
so when we inevitably collided along the continuum,
we were looking at aliens.

and it's just the way we were cultivated:
our bloodstreams allowed for our fertile skin;
they've sowed our flesh
and dug right in;
and our ears were orchestrated to harmonize
opinionated chatter
they've found their moments to chime in
with stalwart orders
and hyena laughter.

but like the faintest star
shining its presence onto earth,
a hope illumines my obscurity:
that i will look at you
and you will look at me
and we'll take a step back to adjust our lens,
wipe off the dirt
to bring some clarity.

and we'll be vivid.

"now see, that's liberation
and baby, i want it...."

So What

with one masteful stroke,
the sky was painted black
and little flickers of light blinked beyond the clouds.
it must've been the fourth of july in heaven.

i was fishing down by Cobb's Creek when the rains came,
but i casted my line nonetheless.
across the way,
skeletons of trees danced to the brilliance
of the wind's a cappella performance
and my pole bobbed with the rhythm as well.
every note she held
felt like a submarine nibble.
the fish must've been laughing hard at my confusion.

it didn't take long before i was bathed in showers
and sheets of rain
were endlessly launched down from their colossal perch,
but i casted my line nonetheless.
i suppose a rainbow would've been nice
but every ka-splunk of my bobber
made a technicolor splash in the pools of my mind.
and i guess a sun could've been useful
but the anticipatory wrestling match
with an underwater foe
sent canoes of warmth down my bloodstream.
and maybe a cool breeze might've been
a proper substitute for these merciless gusts
but their concert wasn't quite over yet.

so on the bank of the creek,
i let nature take its ravaging course
and i thought i heard her ask,
in a voice ethereal and electric,
why i would await her to run me down
with a smile on my face.

and i could only reply,
"so what?"